Under Suspicion

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume 73, Issue 413, 3 November 1930, Page 10

Under Suspicion

Serial Story

(By

Ralph Trevor)

(Author of “ The Jade Token,” etc.) (All Rights Reserved)

CHAPTER XXIII. — (Continued.) Burke regarded the young man curiously. If there was any ]pgpulling going the. detective preferred 11. to have no connection with his own anatomy. “I want to know what you were doing putting these notes in the oft’rrtory box in the church porch this afternoon?” he demanded, producing some crumpled pieces of paper that crackled familiarly. It was Nicholas’s turn to look surprised. ‘‘So Mr Dexter told you that, did lie?’’ smiled Nicholas. “He’s a cool card, that parson.” Then Nicholas’s whole attitude changed. ‘‘Look here, Burke.” he went on: “you suspect that smug old devil just as much as I do. Then why keep up this absurd pretence. You know very well that it was he put them there; you know that it was he who murdered Wilbur Atherton in this house. Come, I think we can help each other quite a lot.” “What the devil are you talking about?” demanded Burke incredulously.

Nicholas Baine dropped into a convenient chair, and for ten minutes he did most of the talking. When they left the old house they walked back to the Green Dragon arm in arm. .nut anyone who might have noticed them would have thought tlv’m jolly good friends. And they would not have been far wrong, either. CHAPTER XXIV. Masks and Face«

Ex-Deteclive “Bill” Rawlings was hoeing weeds in his little front garden in Chiswick. Some da\, he told himself, as he mopped his perspiring neck fur Hi“ fifth time in as many minutes, lie would write an important, scientiflc work upon weeds so that amateur gardeners who followed afte.r would have a fair start in life, lie would also evolve some specific which would permanently disable every weed known in the gardening calendar, in short, it was his ambition to make horticulture a pleasure instead of—as be frequently found it —a curse. "Bill” Rawlings had been retired from the "Yard” for three years and there were limes when he itched to be back once again. Every murder mystery reported in the newspapers claimed his ardent and critical attention and as nothing had happened since a certain Wilbur Atherton had been poisoned somewhere up Nortii, nothing had occurred to reclaim his attention from those infernal weeds. He straightened his back just in time to see a taxi-cab crawl to a standstill opposite his front gate and decant a young man whose build and appearance was curiously familiar. Nicholas Raine paid the driven and turning, caught sight of “Bill.” The two men shook hands. They were old friends. Many a time and oft. “Bill” Rawlings had helped the embyro (as he then was) novelist out of several and sundry difficult situations in the evolution of his mysteries and “Bill" had always had a sneaking regard for the young man. He it was who held Nicholas’ plots up to the daylight of professional experience; he it was w r ho dipped them into the acid test of credibility.

“To get to business,” began Nicholas as the pair were safely ensconced. “I want the loan of your dark room for half-an-hour. You can come in, too, if you like, because we’d better make an enlargement right away.” “Urgent?” queried “Bill,” with a scarcely noticeable lift of the eyebrows.”

“That Wilbur Atherton case. ' saia Nicholas. “You remember it?” The ex-detective nodded his irongrey head.' In half-an-hour the print of the Reverend Cedric Dexter standing beside the Gothic porch of Wynthorpe church was ready. Out in “Bill’s” den they looked at it together. The enlargement had been wonderfully successful. It threw up the minor detail to perfection. “Know the gentleman, Bill?” asked Nicholas.

“I’ve never operated among the smiled Rawlings. “But come to think of It even a shepherd has a crook In his flock,” he added, his grey eyes twinkling. "You don’t recognise him, then?”

“Hadn’t you better give me a line on the job?” asked the older man. Nicholas thought it only reasonable that Rawlings should be given a sketch of the matter up to the point he bad taken it. When he had finished Rawlings was still looking at the curled photograph in his hands.

“Let’s see what a little re-touching will do.” he smiled, and stretched out his hand for his box of water colour paints that reposed on a little shelf at one side of his desk. Nicholas watched him pin the. photograph down on to a board; watched him mix lamp black with a = touch of Chinese white. Then he began to work. Slowly the form and features of the Reverend Cedric Dexter took a new shape and in ten minutes a totally different personality looked out of the photograph at them. “Bill” Rawlings surveyed his artistry with a touch of pride. “Yes,” he smiled, grimly. “I shouldn’t be surprised.” Which remark did not convey anything particularly intelligent to Nicholas. “You mean you know him?” he asked, eagerly. “I have an idea we have met before.” remarked “Bill.” “Now let me see.” From the bottom row of his bookshelves he selected a bulky-looking volume. It had a comprehensive index at the front. Having found what he apparently sought, Mr Rawlings turned over the pages of his photograph album carefully. “Ah.” he exclaimed, with a satisfied intonation. “I think this is the gentleman you want.” And Nicholas saw that, he pointed to a replica of the man he had so cunningly transformed by his paint-box. The young man marvelled at the cunning likeness. It was as though the two prints had been absolutely identical. “And who might he be?” asked Nicholas, unable to restrain himself longer. “When I knew him be wm» ’Smiler

No mention had been made of any bequests to servants in his employ and Nicholas felt immensely relieved. Gone for ever was one of the strongest links in the chain of evidence which the prosecution had forged against Joyce.

But Nicholas could not help thinking how clever Cedric Dexter had been. In some mysterious way he had become aware that Wilbur Atherton’s wealth was not. locked up in bonds and banks but in actual cash at Merlin Court.

No wonder Wilbur Atherton had to die. The risk of being found out, while it was not considerable, was still great.

“But where does Olga Brinning come into the plot?” Nicholas asked himself, as the train rumbled on al sixty miles an hour. It was a question that had yet to be decided, but it was beyond doubt that she entered it at some favourable point. Of that Nicholas was quiti sure.

It was nearly midnight, before Nicholas reached “The Green Dragon,” but his first thought was for Cnrtii Burke.

The landlord opened the door to him and Nicholas immediately asked about the detective; how long had he been gone up to hfs bedroom? ‘Mr Burke went out early thia morning and he hasn't been back since,” said the landlord. “A telegram came for him this evening and it’s still in the rack awaiting for him.” “He didn't say where he was going? asked Nicholas. The landlord shook his head. Nicholas went up to his room feeling somewhat, despondent. “What,” he asked himself, “had happened to Inspector Curtis Burke?” CHAPTER XXV. The Het Close*. The next morning Nicholas Baine, finding that Curtis Burke has not yet returned to the Green Dragon, telephoned to the police station at Carsten, but, he was told that Inspector Burke had not been there since the previous morning, and that he had not mentioned any duties which might have occasioned his being absent for very long. This was distinctly worrying, to say the least. Nicholas remembered “Bill” Rawlings’ words about Sam—that the higher the stakes the more dangerous and desperate he became. Supposing, for instance, he had tumbled to it that tie was under suspicion—well, anything might happen.

Being a believer in going straight to the heart of things, Nicholas swallowed a hasty but nicely-cooked breakfast and set out fo* the Rectory. There was no sign of 2ife about the grounds. The French Windows were closed. Nicholas rang the bell and waited. His ring was answered a moment laler by Mrs Dawler, the housekeeper.

1 Sam.’” he said. “He was one of I those optimistic fellows who fought I gamely right to the end. I once got, Sam a stretch for a little job he did 'at a Paris bank. Gleaned the place jup single-handed. That was fifteen j years ago. The last 1 heard of hin] • was that he'd broken out and that the i French police never got him. And good luck to anyone who can make a get-away from a Froggy gaol. Still,” i went on Mr Rawlings, “it's funny his j turning up again like this. I’d mark- ' ed him down as being off Die active ' list.” i Nicholas felt himself trembling with excitement. What would Burke say to this? He had not told him pre- : cisely what he intended doing in Lon- ; don, only to give -him twenty-four ' hours to complete his inquiries. • “Was this a disguise he was fond of using?” asked the young man who dabbled in mystery stories. “Yes, but you couldn’t tell it for a disguise. He was one of the cleverest guys at make-up I’ve ever kn<r.\n. Sam was so clever that I remember how once he got cle.:." away from Pentonville through some make-up that, was smuggled in to him. Made himself up like Colonel Grcatrex, the Governor ..nd calmly walked out while Hu 1 guard saluted him and opened the "Hler gate. That’s the sort of chap Sam was in the old days.” “What is his real name?” asked Nicholas. Rawlings shook his head. “He had so many aliases that T doubt very much whether it was ever known.” Nicholas thanked him and mentioned that he wanted to gel the next train back north. “Glad to have been of some little assistance.” said “Bill,” cheerily. “By i the way, I could have told you from : the start that that girl was innocent. ■ I saw her photograph in the newspapers.” "Thanks,” murmured Nicholas as he grasped the other's hand. “1 think I'll manage to get her out to- ; morrow, and as for Sam. . . .” , "You’ll have to be careful with ' Sam,” warned “Bill,” shrewdly. “The : higher the stakes the more dangerous Sam becomes, so look out.” Before Nicholas left King's Cross by the afternoon train he sent a wire to Burke asking him to keep Mr Dexter under his eye. Then he settled him- . self down into the corner of a car- , riage and began to think. ’J'liat will he had found and which he had handed over to Buike just be- . fore he left Carslon, had been made ; just three weeks before Wilbur Atherton's death, left twenty thou--1 sand pounds to “my dear friend the Reverend Cedric Dexter, who has shown me the folly of my ways, and who will a-pply such of the money as ; he considers expedient to the relief lof the necessitous poor,” while the | remainder including Merlin Court to ! “my son who by the malice of fate is known in Wynthorpe as John Marston, on condition that he changes his ■ name by deed poll to Atherton.”

“Mr Dexter?” she observed, when Nicholas inquired for the rector. “That’s what I'd like tq be knowin’ myself, sir. He went out yesterday—to go to the church, I thought—-and I've never set my eyes on him since. You don’t think anything, could have happened, sir, do you? These motorcars on the roads, sir——life ain’t as safe as it used to be.” 4To be God tinted.)